


Benediction

by LPSunnyBunny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bro Strider is Trying His Best, Crying, Daddy Kink, Genital Piercing, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Toxic Masculinity, Near Death Experiences, POV Second Person, Strifing (Homestuck), The Inherent Eroticism of Dad's Forearms, Vulnerability, clothed dom naked sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPSunnyBunny/pseuds/LPSunnyBunny
Summary: Your name is BRO STRIDER and you are currently head-over-heels for your little brother's best friend's father. Emotionally and literally.Turns out, he feels the same way.
Relationships: Dad Egbert/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54
Collections: Sloppy Seconds 2020, Sunny's Portfolio





	Benediction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grubbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/gifts).



“Whatever shall I do with you, Mister Strider?”

He loosens his tie as he speaks, like you aren’t breathing heavy, like you don’t have blood dripping down your face and over your mouth, like your nose isn’t currently throbbing in a familiar agony. Like there’s not iron and rust filling your mouth, the taste of death and defeat.

James Egbert kneels over you, having just broken your nose, still perfectly composed and it is _infuriating._

“Again.” You grunt, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth and flicking the blood off of it. He raises a brow at you, but obliges, rising to his feet and stepping back. Your pride demands that you give him at least _something_ in return for all the licks he’s given you, how he's forced you to your knees, your back, down underneath him.

“Very well.” James’s calm gaze flicks over you as you step back. “Would you like to use your sword, Ambrose?”

Before, you would have said no. Would have made a dismissive crack about not taking James’ head off.

But now you’ve got a throbbing nose and an aching tailbone and a bruised pride.

“Reckon it’s time we get serious.” You say as an answer, calling your katana to your hand. It fits perfectly, familiarly- extending your reach and flowing right alongside your motions. An extension of yourself.

“I suppose we should,” James agrees and reaches up, slipping his jacket off. Your eyes trace the curves of his shoulders as he carefully folds it and sets it aside, left in just his slacks and his perfectly-pressed, crisp white dress shirt. He undoes the button on one sleeve and carefully, meticulously folds it back.

Your mouth goes dry.

He slips two fingers into the folded fabric and adjusts it the tiniest bit, making it lay smooth. His strong forearm is suddenly bare to the world and there is a throbbing right in your gut that only intensifies as you watch his dexterous fingers unbutton his other sleeve. He folds the fabric back, makes it lie flat with a two-fingered sweep. He rotates his arms back and forth and then his sharp blue gaze meets yours as his foot shifts back.

His hands come up, curled loosely in front of himself. Almost like a boxer- but not quite.

He's not using a weapon. You’ve never pulled your sword on him before like this- and you can’t stop the little flutter of worry that you actually _will_ hurt him without him having anything to block your attacks.

He’s made it clear he’s ready, though, and to question that would be questioning his resolve- which is clearly made up. His expression is patient, waiting.

Your move, then.

You’ll oblige.

You flashstep forwards and your sword comes streaking towards his chest- you’re holding back, enough that you could twist it away if he doesn’t dodge- you couldn’t bear to face Dave if you killed his best friend’s dad, after all.

James steps into your space, there’s a hand on your wrist, and then you’re being tossed ass-over-head past him. It’s startling, how _easy_ it seemed to be for him, a simple grab-pull-pivot.

Using your own momentum against you.

You hit the dirt (with your _sword out-_ you can’t remember anyone _ever_ making you hit dirt with your sword out-) and roll back up to your feet.

No holding back, then.

You feint, go right- then left and your sword is going right for his gut- _make every hit count-_ and he’s _turning,_ his hand on your wrist _again_ and the other on the back of your shirt and you’re being tossed like you’re a washbin being emptied, like a character in a cartoon, tumbling across the perfectly-cultivated backyard of the Egbert family home.

It’s _humiliating_.

No one’s ever tossed you about like this, so effortlessly, and as you roll, you take a moment to reflect on how fucking attracted you are to this man.

His assets: incredibly physically attractive, fit, calm and put-together all the time. A good dad. A great baker. Stable job, stable home. Caring. Can beat your ass, apparently with great ease.

His detractors: You honestly can’t think of any.

There’s no way that this is anything other than friendly sparring, though. There’s no way a man like James Egbert, ultimate DILF, would be into a guy like you. You’re barely holding everything together, all the time. Can’t give your little brother a stable home. Can’t keep a stable job. Emotionally a wreck. Spotty history.

You shove all those thoughts out of your mind because you’re springing to your feet again and there’s a terrible, humiliating _ache_ in your chest, a _make him regret that,_ a _make him pay,_ a _you’re a_ ** _man_** _aren’t you,_ as you flashstep forwards, sword swinging right for James’ _neck-_

_Wait fuck oh shit no please-_

You’re not quite sure what happens.

You swing your sword. You panic. Pain erupts in your gut and you can’t breathe. Your wrist is grabbed. You drop your sword. ( _You_ ** _drop your sword_** - _)_ A hand clamps over the back of your neck. You’re on your knees. Your face is in the grass. A hand in your hair, a hand on your wrist, your arm pulled out and back.

Weight on your calves.

“I think that’s enough for today,” James says, his voice soft. You feel cold to the core.

You could have actually killed him. You weren’t holding back in that last hit and you think he knows that. You could have taken his head right off if he didn’t avoid it.

You don’t trust yourself to speak. James has your forehead pressed to the ground, mercifully avoiding your broken nose, and so you nod once. He feels it and lets go of your hair, of your wrist.

Your scalp feels hot. Your wrist tingles. The back of your neck aches. Your calves are throbbing. Every spot that he’s touched you feels like it’s shivering. You don’t know how to deal with that.

James gets off your calves. You get to your feet, grabbing your sword and putting it away. James retrieves his jacket. He beckons you inside. You follow wordlessly to the kitchen, where he says, “please sit,” and ushers you into a chair.

You sit.

You lean forwards as blood drips from your nose. You hadn’t really felt it before, what with the fight adrenaline and all, but your nose hurts like a fucking bitch. Your glasses are slipping down. They’re in the way. You think about taking them off.

You can’t. You’d be too exposed. You can’t be that raw in front of James.

James comes with a soft icepack wrapped in a hand towel. You think dully _shouldn’t ruin the towel_ , but he puts it in your hand and cups your hand to guide you up to press it to your nose, so that’s kinda out of your control.

There are little flecks of red on the floor. You should probably clean those up. It’s probably bad houseguest etiquette to bleed on someone’s floors.

You jolt slightly at a warm hand on your knee. James had pulled a chair over and sat in front of you without noticing, somehow. You look at him and he looks back at you. His hand is warm on your knee. It’s really warm. You can feel it through the fabric of your jeans.

“Ambrose.” James says softly. “Would you like to talk about what happened out there?”

“Not particularly.” You manage. You still feel kind of... not-here. Stuck in that moment, watching your sword swing towards his neck, entirely out of your control. You blink and behind your eyes, metal swings. “Fucked up. Lost control. ‘S all there really is to it.”

James hums a little. Your face feels kind of numb, which is a lot better than being in pain, that’s for sure.

“I see,” he says. “Does that happen often?”

“Not really. I should’a known better.” Your mouth twists slightly in a disgusted irritation. “Shouldn’t’a pulled my sword on you. That was rather stupid of me.”

It’s basically rule number one of swords. You don’t use live steel on anyone you’re not willing to kill. ‘S why you never use your katana with Dave, always make Dave practice with the blunted swords, never let Dave anywhere _near_ anything with a real edge, you won’t for a while yet-

“I provoked you,” James says, shaking his head. “I apologize. That was foolish and short-sighted of me- I should have realized that you would fight differently with a blade in your hand.”

He... apologized? You blink at him. That's... strange.

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” You point out, lowering the ice pack because now your mouth is starting to feel a bit numb. “You’re not the one who tried to bring the French Revolution back into style with a more personal touch.”

James chuckles at that, a small, amused smile on his face. Your gut swoops at the same time that your heart decides to go into overtime and you have decided that you very much do not like your body unionizing against you and rebelling against your brain to demand the right to freely slam all of the buttons labeled ‘Signs You Are Attracted To This Man’.

“I suppose that is true.” He agrees. His hand is still on your knee. You feel hot all over except for where you are numb from the ice but you feel like if you weren’t numb you would be hot there, too. Your cheeks especially feel hot. “Though I suppose it would not be the worst of ways to go. If I recall correctly, in the French Revolution sometimes they had to have multiple goes to cut through the neck, though I may be misremembering that particular fact. You are certainly strong enough that you would make it in one go, making it swift.”

Why is it hot that he knows that fact. Why is it even more hot that he basically said that he would let you kill him if it came down to that. You don’t care it’s true or not. You would sit here and let him tell you made up facts for hours just to hear his voice, have those handsome blue eyes on you.

You bring the icepack back to your nose again to have something to do. At least the bleeding has mostly stopped. Your polo is _ruined._ You’ll just have to toss it.

James offers you a small smile. His hand squeezes lightly on your knee.

“Whatever _shall_ I do with you?” He murmurs.

Your jeans feel tight.

 _You could keep me,_ you very carefully do not blurt out. There is no way this handsome, incredibly attractive, funny man with a stable life is flirting with _you_ , the dishonorably discharged, aged-out-of-the-system kid, the working-two-jobs-and-barely-making-rent man.

So instead of answering right away and letting your brain say something stupid, you breathe once and say, “what do you mean?”

James hums a little. His thumb strokes back and forth in a soft, gentle motion over your thigh.

His sleeves are still rolled up. You feel hot at just the sight of his forearms. You need to get a fucking grip.

“Forgive my forwardness,” James says, “but Ambrose... you are a very attractive man. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Your breath catches. You probably aren’t reading the signs wrong, but there’s always the chance you are. It’s not like it hasn’t happened in the past. If you fuck this up, Dave could possibly lose his best friend and a house that he can stay and feel safe at.

“And I find myself wondering more and more,” James continues, oblivious to your internal dilemma, “if you would let me... take care of you.” His gaze is _scorching_. Not his usual warmth, but something... _hungrier._

What?

What the fuck does _that_ mean?

You’re not quite sure what to say, so you stare at him in a dumbfounded manner. He must take your confused silence for disagreement, though, because something in his expression falls and he starts to sit back, taking his hand from your knee and, before you can even have a single thought about it, your hand is snapping out and taking his hand and holding it. His expression shifts to surprise as you say,

“That’s not- I’m not sayin’ _no.”_ Trying to find the words. You’ve never been good with them, but you really need them to work for you right now. “I’m not quite sure what you’re askin’- but if it’s what I think you are- then. Yes.”

James’ expression clears up into something pleased. His hand turns in yours and he laces your fingers together. Your hand feels like it's tingling, the tiniest of touches of his fingers on yours making goosebumps rise on your arms.

“I would like to take you upstairs and lie you down in my bed,” James says, his voice low and warm and you feel entranced, caught in the siren’s song of this handsome man sitting across from you. “And then I would make love to you until the both of us were exhausted. And, should you enjoy yourself, I would do it more than once- as many times as you would like.”

His words send a hot fire roaring to life in your chest, a shiver racing up and down your spine.

Okay. Not reading the situation wrong, then.

“Yeah.” You say, mouth dry, heart beating in your ears. “That sounds... good.”

He smiles and gives your hand a squeeze. You rise to your feet like you’re in a dream, not quite sure if this is real or not. It doesn’t quite feel real. You set the icepack down and your nose isn’t bleeding anymore so that should be fine- and then James is guiding you from the kitchen, glancing back at you with a coy little smile you’ve never seen from him before.

Come on, Strider. You’re not a fucking virgin. You shouldn’t be this dumbfounded and tongue-tied at the idea of having sex with someone.

Somehow this feels different, though. Because it’s _James._ You don’t know how to explain it. It just feels _different_ , walking up the stairs, your hand clasped in his as you’re led along. You enter his room and it’s everything and nothing you expect- but the only thing you care about is the queen-sized bed with a dark blue comforter spread out on top.

James closes the door, turns to you, and then he’s got you pressed up against the door, his hands on your waist. Your arms end up around his neck like you’re a girl, as he leans in and carefully kisses you, mindful of your busted nose.

It’s hot and gentle and you’re shivering from the touch of it and you don’t quite know _why_. You’ve been kissed any number of times- but never like _this._ It's always been hot and frantic with the goal of getting off. You've never been kissed with this level of...

of _care._

It’s just a slow mouthing against each other, your eyes fluttering closed, slowly trailing one hand up into his hair to cup the back of his head. He hums softly against your lips, taking the lead as he guides you through some slow, sensual slide of your lips together and you just... let him. You let him lead wherever he wants to take you.

You’re _Bro Motherfucking Strider_ and you’re just... _letting_ this man have control.

The idea should terrify you. If it was anyone else, it probably would.

But this is _James._ The man who always sends Dave home with leftovers. The man who has never complained about Dave staying the night on short notice, not once. The man who’s always welcomed you into his home, even the time that you had two broken ribs and refused to to to the hospital.

You don’t know if James has a malicious bone in his body. If there is, it must be awful small- because you’ve never seen it.

His hands-on your waist are warm. They way they sit just above your hipbones, squeezing lightly, your arms around his neck, your back to the door- it all makes you feel strangely... delicate. You shiver slightly, a low sigh escaping you at the thought. James pulls back enough to raise one hand and cup your cheek, rubbing under the point of your glasses.

“I admire you quite a lot, Ambrose.” James murmurs. “You’re a very strong man- let me take some of those burdens off your shoulders, if only for a little while.”

You swallow.

“Not sure I should let you take that weight.” You say and you have no idea why you’re saying that because that is very much not sexy. “It’s an awful lot.”

James smiles softly and, you think, maybe a touch sadly. “It’s not a bad thing to let go.” He says and closes the space between your lips again before you can say anything back because, well, yes it is- letting go means _bad things happen_.

But he’s kissing you so nice and sensual that you find your protests falling by the wayside, slowly relaxing in his hold. He turns the both of you and walks you backwards towards the bed, slow and careful and kissing you the whole way, until your legs bump into the mattress. You let him reach for your shirt and carefully tug it up and over your head- then for your belt, letting his fingers work it open- but not once does he reach for your shades.

That, more than anything else, is what makes your mind up. You fall backwards onto the bed at his urging, and, as he gets onto the bed after you, you slide your shades off, fold them, and set them on his nightstand.

James pauses, kneeling over you, his hands at the first button on his shirt, surprise on his face. He clearly wasn’t expecting that- but it melts away into something warm and soft as you meet his eyes clearly for the first time.

He doesn’t remark on the moment, doesn’t say anything about seeing your orange eyes, his fingers resuming working his shirt button open, but you know that, intrinsically, nothing will be the same ever again. James is the first man you’ve ever bared yourself to like this- and you’ll never be able to take it back.

You reach up to help him, taking his shirt and fisting it in your hands, tugging him down. He braces one forearm on the bed above your head as his mouth finds yours, leaning over you, and you hold him there for a moment as your tongues meet in a sensual, warm glide. Satisfied that he won’t be moving, you let go of his now-wrinkled shirt and start working at the buttons- but his hands catch yours. Your brow furrows as he guides your hands away- and then he's gently pressing your hands to the bed on either side of your head.

“Relax.” James breathes pulling back enough for you to catch the warm, hungry expression on his face. “Tonight’s about _you,_ Ambrose. Let me do everything.”

You feel breathless, overtaken with a dizzying sensation of _authority._ He’s so calm and in control and his hands on your wrists, still gently holding them down, feel like shackles- but instead of making you feel trapped, you feel _held._

You feel

 _safe_.

 _James Egbert, I want you._ The thought is blazingly clear in your mind as you stare up at this man and slowly nod your understanding. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want this man. You would let him do anything to you, just to keep his attention for one hour, one minute, one _second_ longer. You would take the hands off of anyone else who would touch you like this, _command_ you to _stay_ like this- but James isn’t just anyone.

He smiles and there’s nothing else in the room. Just him. Just you. He squeezes your wrists gently, then lets go- and they feel heavy, like he’s made them suddenly weigh ten tons.

You want to be _good_ for this man- yet another thing that should _terrify_ you in its strange newness but instead of the expected fear and feeling of _getmeout_ of _no one can have power over me_ there’s just... peace. Tender touches and he’s kissing you again so you sigh softly and let him do it, let him slip his tongue into your mouth and you tilt your head up into it, letting your own come forwards and slide against his.

When he pulls back and looks down at you there’s a pretty flush in his cheeks that you want to see more of- you want to see this man in all stages of disarray, all forms of dishevelment. You can see the tiniest hint of collarbone, tantalizing and strong, through the top open button of his shirt and you want to lean in and kiss it, want to bite marks along it and mark him up, make him _yours-_

“I’m clean.” You blurt out, before he can say anything. You haven’t been with anyone in a while, after all- not since you started your new job and haven’t really had any time at all to hook up with anyone. James blinks down at you and you take a moment to wonder about his hookups- but then he’s smiling and cupping your cheek with a soft laugh and a,

“Is that your way of asking me to not use a condom?”

Your face goes hot.

“I want... to feel you.” You, Bro Strider, fumble over your words. It should be _humiliating-_ but James’ smile goes wider and the feeling never comes.

“Then that’s what you’ll get.” He says. His hands trace down your chest as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder, shivers racing through you at the touch. He kisses slowly over your soft, vulnerable skin and you _have_ to touch him, you _have_ to put a hand on his shoulder, the other fisting into the pillow underneath your head. This touch must be alright, your hand on the smooth, crisp fabric of his dress shirt, because he doesn’t pin your hand down again. Each little press of his mouth to your skin is putting fire in your veins, making you shiver- it’s such a _tiny_ touch but you have to close your eyes as his tongue swipes a darting little stripe over your skin.

“James...” His name falls from your lips, breathy and low. You’re achingly hard in your pants and you _need_ them off before you spontaneously combust from the building pressure. Your belt’s open, but that’s it- and you want those careful, quick fingers on you, want so badly to be touched.

“I’m here.” James murmurs against your neck, breath warm on your skin, so so warm. “Relax.” His fingers skim down your body, leaving tingling trails of _need_ in their wake. “I’ve got you, Ambrose.”

_I’ve got you._

Your eyes feel suspiciously damp as James’s fingers brush over your clothed cock, then start working your jeans down. You lift your hips a bit to help him, trying to ignore the tight feeling in your throat.

“Yeah,” you murmur back as he kisses underneath your ear. “I know...”

You do know. As much as you’d been averse to admitting it, pushing the idea away, trying to cling to your pride- James has always been nothing but good to you. Maybe that’s why you’re rolling over for him so easily, why you’re baring your neck and letting his mouth touch your skin and sighing softly for him and letting him move you without a fuss, without a hint of protest.

So he works your jeans down and you kick them off, looking up at this handsome man as he nudges your legs apart and kneels between them, his expression so warm and gentle and it’s like your shell has been cracked open and he’s seeing right into the core of you with those piercing blue eyes of his. All you have left is your underwear on and he’s reaching for it, working it down and off and he’s still fully dressed, he’s- it’s making your head spin because the little flashes of skin you _do_ see are driving you insane, making your heart beat faster and your gut go tight and hot. His sleeves are staying right where he put them, perfectly rolled up and his forarms are bare.

You want to kiss them. You want to press kisses up and down the space between his palm and inner elbow, you want to kiss his hands and take his fingers into your mouth and see if you can make him blush by sucking on them, by rolling your tongue against them. You want those hands on you forever and ever, holding you down with such _care,_ strong fingers spread over your skin, arms wrapped around your body and holding you.

You want to _worship_ this fucking man. You want to make him feel like the most important man in the world. You want to bite his neck, leave marks, kiss over his skin and collarbone- that _fucking flash of collarbone_ as he shifts and pulls your boxers off is pulling your attention, just the most tantalizing tease in existence. You want to rip his shirt open and kiss his chest and stomach and touch him all over, your fingers _itch_ with the urge, the desire to do _anything,_ just don’t stop looking at me, don’t look away, I’m right here, touch me, touch me, _don’t stop looking at me-_

His fingers wrap around your cock and you jolt, struck from your desperately hazy thoughts. He makes a soft, intrigued noise, squeezing lightly around your hard, velvety length and you groan at how warm the touch it, at how good it feels. His thumb brushes against one of the set of piercings you have and when you steal a glance at his face, he looks pleased, his fingers shifting and beginning to stroke, moving carefully over the rows of your Jacob’s ladder.

“Isn’t _this_ a treat?” James murmur and you shudder as he squeezes at your head. “You continue to be full of surprises, Ambrose.”

You feel like you should say something, but all of your words seem to have been struck from you, stolen in the face of this handsome man’s attention. He glances up at you and his eyes meeting yours makes your breath stutter- he must see something in your face because he chuckles softly. The sound pours into you like water down a well, tumbling down into your depths and filling something deep inside of you.

 _Don’t stop looking at me._ He shifts and leans up and kisses you again and you tilt your head into it, letting him control it completely, tiny little swipes of his mouth against yours that are making you shiver and shudder with each one- just enough to feel it, but not enough to _feel_ it, a maddening tease.

“Ambrose.” Your name fits perfectly in his mouth, coming from his voice. You hate your name. It’s too girly. Bro is better. Not when James says it, though. When James says it it sounds right. It sounds like it finally isn’t weak. Like a good name instead of a pathetic one. He says it and it sounds like _you._ “I want to fuck you. Would you like that?”

The swear falling from James’ mouth feels _sacrilegious,_ feels like the best kind of blasphemy, hot and sinful and your belly goes hot and tight at the idea that he’s swearing _for you_ and before you can stop yourself the words fall from your mouth in a dizzying slide that you could no more stop than you could deny James anything.

_“Yes, daddy.”_

Your stomach turns. Sweat breaks out down your spine, cold and chilling. You’ve never- no one has- not even _once-_

You can’t look at him, sure that with that one single word you’ve ruined everything, he’s about to pull away and push your clothes into your arms and politely and firmly show you the door.

His hand smooths over your forehead. The touch is gentle. “Ambrose. Look at me?”

You force yourself to look.

His expression isn’t what you expect. It’s warm and soft and there’s some new depth to it that you can’t quite place but you don’t know what to do, here, you’re so fucking in the deep end that only James’ touch is stopping you from sinking under and drowning.

He smiles. “It’s alright. Daddy’s here. I’ll take care of you.” His mouth shapes the word _daddy_ like it’s meant to be there.

Your reaction is immediate and instinctive, a full-body shudder _racing_ through you as your eyes get wet, your legs shift, your stomach squirms and goes hot and your pulse ratchets up to way the fuck past eleven- a stuttered inhale and shaking exhale following his words.

“Would you like that, baby?” James asks kindly, his hand smoothing your bangs back and running over your hair. You feel small underneath him, feel _safe,_ and so you nod the tiniest bit, embarrassed and squirming.

“Yes, daddy.” You murmur again and your gut still clenches in embarrassment but it’s hot and molten this time, your cock throbbing as your gaze skitters away, unable to take James’ softly fond expression. His hand reaches down and wraps around your cock again and you shiver a little at the pleasurable squeeze and slow stroke he gives it.

“Put your hands next to your head again, baby,” James says, his voice soft and tender and you’re helpless to that voice, helpless to do anything but obey, settling your hands next to your head again where he had put them earlier.

“Good boy.” He kisses your cheek as a stuttered inhale makes your chest shake. That’s just not _fair,_ him saying those words so gently and freely- you didn’t even _do_ anything. “Daddy’s going to make you feel so good.”

That feels like something you should respond to so, with cheeks burning and trying not to let your voice break, you manage a soft little, “thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” James says. His other hand comes up and braces above your head, that bare forearm of his resting against the bed. You feel dizzy, off-kilter, but James is here over you, leaning in and kissing your neck and that’s good, his touch is grounding as he gently squeezes and strokes you and kisses at your neck, making your eyes flutter and hands slowly open and close. You don’t think he’s doing anything to leave marks, probably trying to be considerate, but you’ve never wanted anyone to mark you up as you want him to, you want him to leave his claim on your body, fingerprints burning into your hips, hickies on your neck, a fucking _collar,_ anything at all- you’re _desperate_ for him, for proof that this isn’t a one-time thing-

 _Again and again_ , he had said, downstairs. You cling to that and moan softly as he kisses and kisses and squeezes and touches you, making you hot all over.

His lips press to your ear, his breath hot, making you shiver. Then his voice, low and murmuring, _“do you want daddy’s cock, sweetheart?”_

You almost cum on the spot, gasping, your cock throbbing in his hand at the pulse of _need_ that goes through you.

“ _God-_ ” you choke out, shivering. “ _Yes,_ please, fuck- please, daddy-” The more you say it, the easier the word becomes, falling from your mouth with less and less shame. James hums softly and kisses the shell of your ear and then he’s pulling back and sitting on his heels and you’re shivering and you _need_ him, you’ve never needed anyone as much as you need him right now, you’re aching for him, _aching-_

He reaches for his nightstand and finds a small bottle of lube, popping the cap open. You let him guide your legs open, falling to either side and giving him everything of yourself. He could hurt you in this moment like no other person could, you’ve never given anyone this much of yourself before, never let anyone get this close, let them see you being this _vulnerable_ , this terrifyingly bare.

There’s no fear. You’ve bared yourself because you know this man will never hurt you. His touch is nothing but kindness, nothing but grace. Holy and reverent and soft, every touch, every glance, every kiss is nothing but a benediction.

His hand slips along your skin, finding the place where you’ll give and open up for him and James is gentle, so careful. He never stops watching you, watching the hitching of your chest and the flush in your cheeks as he gently opens you up, works you soft and relaxed and loose for him. It’s been a long time since you’ve let anyone do this- but he coaxes your body’s submission so easily, so naturally, that it feels like you were made to be here for him, under him.

You watch his collarbone, showing through the undone button of his shirt. You want to kiss him so badly. You want to touch him. You want to feel the slide of his skin under your fingertips. You want to trace all his dips and curves. You want to find all the ways in which he’s soft and all the ways in which he’s firm and touch every inch. You want to kiss him everywhere he’ll let you, find everywhere that makes him sigh and hum with enjoyment.

God, you want him. You want him so much. You want him to be your daddy, and that’s the most terrifyingly arousing thing of all.

He’s still fingering you, lazy and gentle and soft as he watches you shift and pant. It’s good, it’s nice, it feels _good-_ but it’s not what you _want._ You want him to fuck you, want to feel the heat and drag of his cock inside of you, want him to make love to you and call you _baby_ and _sweetheart_ as he spreads you out underneath him, you want to grab his shoulders and cling to him as he fucks you, still so perfectly put together and handsome and he’s got you completely vulnerable while he’s still so so composed and he’s so _calm_ and in control that it’s driving you _insane_. You want to tear the clothes off of this man and ride him into next week until he’s shuddering and falling apart underneath you. You want his calm, firm hands holding you down as he takes what he wants from you. You want to be pinned underneath this handsome, _handsome_ man for him to use you however he wants.

You want to be _good_ for him.

Whatever that means, whatever he wants- you want to be good for him. You’ll do anything for this man. You’ll take anything he’ll give you and call him _daddy_ and he’ll touch you and call you softly affection names that will make your heart melt into your gut.

“Daddy,” you breathe, spreading your legs just that touch wider. “Please... I need you.”

James smiles. Your heart squeezes.

“You got it, baby,” he says, sliding his fingers free. “Daddy will take care of you.”

You nod a little bit, pressing your hot cheek to one of your arms, flushed and hot and needy and embarrassed because you _need_ him, you feel so small and protected here, with daddy over you and sinking slowly into your body.

He’s so hot. James’ cock is hot and thick inside of you as he carefully hikes your legs up and slips inside and there’s a deep _yearning_ pit in your belly that he’s filling, hollowed out and waiting for him. The clench around him makes you groan but _he_ makes a low, pleasured noise in response and your scalp tingles at the sound of it, fire _erupting_ through you as the though _I made him sound like that_ bubbles up in your brain.

He’s pressing in, in, in and you’ve never felt so full, never been so taken care of like this, never had anyone touch you so soft and gentle so it feels like the most natural thing in the world to let a low “ _daddy..._ ” slip past your lips, hooking your legs around his waist.

James’ gaze is so _nakedly_ affectionate as it meets your eyes that it makes your throat close up, hot and thick as he reaches up and gently brushes a thumb under your eye.

“Shh, baby.” He whispers, soft and caring. “It’s alright. Daddy’s got you.” His thumb comes away wet. You blink and realize that you’ve got tears, trickling down your cheeks.

You should feel horrid, weak, humiliated- but all you can feel is an overwhelming _affection_ for this man hovering over you, telling you things like _it’s alright_ and _I have you_ and smoothing away all the rough, jagged edges of uncertainty in your chest.

“I know.” You say lowly, turning and pressing your cheek into his hand. His gaze goes smoldering as he presses the rest of the way inside and the sight of it makes your body shiver from head to toe. He thumbs over your mouth and you part your lips- your tongue slips out and swipes over the whorl of his thumb and you imagine that he’s pressing it onto your tongue, stamping his fingerprint onto you, visceral _proof_ that you belong to him.

He hooks his thumb into your mouth and smooths it along the length of your tongue, making your eyes flutter shut as you sigh. You close your mouth around the digit and roll your tongue against it, tasting the salty sweat on his skin, sucking softly. He makes a low noise and his cock throbs, deep inside your belly. He’s filling you up completely, entirely, his cock hot and pressing up somewhere into your core and soothing a horrendous ache inside of you, his words pouring into you and soaking in like rain into parched earth.

“Pleath,” you mumble around his thumb, flicking your eyes open and looking up at him. “Neeth you...”

He smiles and slips his thumb from your mouth. You’re instantly missing it, but then he’s leaning in and kissing you and this is much better because his hands are on your hips and his hips pull back and gently thrust forwards, pushing deep into you and shoving a groan from your mouth at the molten pleasure that races up your spine.

“ _Daddy,”_ you gasp the word against his mouth and he kisses you again, and again, and again, swallowing your noises and keeping them all for himself as he rocks and presses a burning need into your gut, coiling tight.

You want to touch him so badly- your hands are still by your head and they feel heavy, the ghostly sensation of fingers around them and pressure keeping them down, but you want to touch him _so badly-_ you want to run your hands over his shoulders and feel the crisp fabric of his perfectly-pressed shirt, you want to grab his shirt and press wrinkles into it as you pull him in and kiss him senseless. With every rocking thrust he gives you, you can feel the fabric of his slacks against your ass, smooth and rubbing and you’re completely naked, spread out for him.

He’s so perfectly commanding, perfectly domineering- no wonder he drew this out of you so easily. You gasp and pant against his mouth as his rhythm picks up- rolling and pushing inside of you and it feels _swelteringly_ hot, you have to pull your face away and tip it back to gasp for air that isn’t heated by your mingling breaths, panting- and he presses his face to your neck again. Heat rushes over your skin with every low exhale he gives, his teeth nipping softly and tongue lathing over the vulnerable skin of your neck.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him on with a low, moaning, “ _please_ , daddy, more, please-” and he _gives_ it to you, grip on your hips going tight as he _snaps_ forwards.

“So good for me, sweetheart, so good-” He purrs against your skin and you give a _gasp_ as his cock presses in and rubs right against that spot that turns your legs to jelly, makes you so pliable and soft because it feels _too good_ , god it feels too good and you can only moan helplessly, completely overtaken and commanded by this man, this perfect fucking man that’s holding you down and fucking you into his goddamn sheets.

“There, there- _there_ , daddy, there-” Your words are coming so _easily_ , falling from your mouth, you’re unrestrained and desperate and _babbling_ in a way you never have been before and James rewards you because he shifts and then his cock is pressing into that spot with every sharp snap of his hips and you can’t anymore, you _have_ to hold him- your hands fly up from the bed and you wrap them around his shoulders and cling to him, the pressed fabric of his shirt rubs against your chest as he fucks hard, shoulders moving under your fingers as you gasp and gasp and _gasp_ \- it’s like you can’t get enough air, not quite, panting, every breath driven from your lungs as he snaps in and shoves it from your body but every time he pulls _back_ it’s an aching _loss_ for him to fill, over and over.

 _“Ambrose-”_ James gasps your name, one hand letting go of your hips to wrap around you cock, fist it tightly, squeezing, “cum for me, cum for daddy-”

It hits you like a truck.

You arch and _sob_ out a moan, your cock pulsing and spilling over in your hand, legs locking tight around him as he fucks in and groans low, face in your neck as you shake, wave after wave of helpless pleasure pulsing through you, uncoiling from your belly to flood through your entire body until you’re limp and exhausted, clinging to him weakly as a thrust rocks your entire body and he breathes, _“so perfect, sweetheart, so good, so perfect-”_ as heat pulses into you, deep in your belly as he cums inside.

You cup a hand over the back of his head as the both of you pant, sweat pooling across the dips and curves of your body. As you smooth your hands down his back you can feel his shirt sticking to his spine, damp from his exertion and it sends a _thrill_ down your spine as you feel the proof of his effort to make you feel good.

Slowly, he pulls back. In a move that is _stupidly_ sexy, he reaches up and pushes his bangs back from his face. You stare up at him, completely tongue-tied. Embarrassment is starting to sink into your chest, a terrible heat slinking up into your face, your gaze skittering off to the side everything sinks in of what you just did, of how much you just completely laid yourself bare before James, a man you _respect_ , now that he’s seen all these horrible, weak, pathetic parts of you he’s sure to think you unfit to care for Dave, unworthy of his attention-

“Ambrose.” Your name still fits in his mouth. Soft and tender, you can’t stop your gaze from flitting to him again.

He’s undoing his shirt buttons. Your mouth is dry as he shucks the fabric off and tosses it to the side towards his hamper, not looking to see if it makes it. Long stretches of beautiful skin are on display now and you watch, fingers itching with the urge to touch, as he slips out of his pants as well, left just in his underwear.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, guides you onto your side and you let him move you, let him tuck your face against your chest, tangle your legs together. You don’t get it- he’s got what he wanted, surely, why is he-

“Shh.” He hushes you softly and you realize you’re trembling. “It’s alright. I have you, baby. I have you.”

He tugs blankets up around you, chasing away the chill of the bedroom air on your cooling, sweat-damp skin. His hand runs through your hair.

“James.” You manage. “I-”

He waits patiently for you to find your words, just touching gently over your skin. You try to pull them together.

“I... I’ve never... done _that-_ not with anyone.” Your words are definitely failing you, clumsy and heavy and embarrassed with the way they ooze off your tongue like slime you have to scrape free.

“It’s alright.” James says softly. His arm wraps around you, strong and sure. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” His lips press against your forehead, a gentle kiss. “I care for you a lot- this doesn’t change that.” He murmurs and you close your eyes, a few relieved tears slipping free.

“Okay.” You manage and finally let yourself reach for him, press closer, wrap an arm around his waist.

His fingers drift down your spine, warm and grounding. In the morning, James will make pancakes. You’ll hug him from behind and watch him work until he shoos you away and while you eat you’ll play footsie under the table like teenagers. Then you’ll go pick up John and Dave from Rose’s house and you’ll stare at James' mouth the entire ride over. John will be oblivious, but Dave will give you a look like he knows something went down- and it’ll only be after you get home that you realize there is a hickey, peeking out from under your shirt collar. Dave will poke fun at you for it and you’ll grab him by the ankles and dangle him upside-down until he begs for mercy and then the two of you will talk about what it means. James will invite you out to dinner and you’ll go and maybe, just maybe, something will go from there. Something good, something that you can hold and cradle to your chest and protect, soft and precious in this cold world.

But, right now, you just press your face to his shoulder and let his touch lull you to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing, check me out on twitter at [@LPSunnyBunny](http://www.twitter.com/LPSunnyBunny)!


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